


HoleHeartedly

by Wadds



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Body Horror, Brainwashing, Bullying, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Drug Use, Eventual Smut, Genderfluid Character, Ghost Sex, Harm to Animals, Hurt/Comfort, Identity Issues, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Near Death Experiences, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Schizophrenia, Torture, referenced animal death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-01
Updated: 2017-09-12
Packaged: 2018-12-22 16:03:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11970810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wadds/pseuds/Wadds
Summary: A banshee tries to remember who he was.Things crumble around him.He has to get through this.He's going to get through this.





	1. Prologue: The Remembering

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello there! You're probably wondering why things have been removed and changed. Well, I didn't like how the chapters were going, so I deleted everything! Sorry about that!

Talon.

An organization riddled with secrets and sleeper agents. Synonymous with brainwashing, memory erasure, torture, really anything terrible. If they had their sights on you, you might as well kiss your life goodbye. Whether that meant you were going to die, or be turned into an agent with no memories of your former life, well, that was up to the Boss. 

The Boss was an enigmatic man. A man with an appetite for power, and therefore, status. He always needed more people, to erase, to change, to rule over. His employees were always happy to help him with his desires. One day, he had his eyes set on a certain man with certain circumstances around him. He immediately sent his “recruitment team”, a group of doctors and brutes that would show no mercy against a struggler, after the man. They picked him up, taking him back to headquarters, and melding his brain to their will. 

Now, this wasn’t an overnight process. A bit of brute force and psychology pushed things along neatly, and in a week’s time, the man who they’d picked up didn’t exist anymore. They let him out of their operating room, and he was free to begin his work. It wasn’t an easy job. He needed training. He was a fast learner, however, catching on to little nuances and forming his own regime. They were impressed, the Boss was impressed. Soon enough, he was sent on his first mission.

Needless to say, it went flawlessly. A few of these performances later, and he received a promotion. What did this promotion do? Well, it gave him actual lodgings, and kept him out of the operating room. He no longer had to go in for sessions of reworking his psyche. He was free. He thanked his boss, over and over again, to the point where he was asked to stop and leave. The very next day, he watched several agents walk into the famed room and come back shaking. He was glad he was free. 

There was only one setback. With his operations, something stuck. Voices. They’d come now and then, whispering tiny lies, screaming nasty untruths. They clawed at the inside of his head, and he could never tell when they’d get tired. They’d told him that it was a side product of the “therapy”. Told him to figure it out on his own, said if he was strong, he could push past it. Sometimes he wondered what their definition of strong was. Despite this, he did, in fact, press on.

But there was one thing he couldn’t escape.

 

They told him it would happen soon. The brainwashing was never permanent, they’d remind him, time and time again. They could try and try, but eventually something would slip up, they said. They warned him about thinking too much about the memories that they locked up. The ones that slip, through tiny cracks formed by happenstance. He was never a good listener when it came to these things. Door locked. Windows padded. Alone, in a dark room with nothing but the scattered memories. The voices were there, but they were tame today. Today was a special day. Today was the day that he would allow himself a moment to truly think about things.

 

Today was his Remembering Day.


	2. Holding Hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first memory

A phone buzzed to life. Ten unread messages. Two missed calls. The eleventh message slid down the LED screen. Name, Big Demon Softie, two hearts, an eye.

-Why aren’t you awake?  
-It’s past noon, I’m at your door.  
-Wake up, Jamison.

The bright light was annoying, so a hand sloppily flipped the device over. More messages. What time was it? The sound of keys. An unlocking door. Something under the covers shifts. It curls up and furrows its brow. Since when did he have the keys--

“Wake up, Jamison.”

A pause. The thing under the covers pokes its head out, looking around in a half daze. Shaking a mess of dull yellow hair around, a hand rubs darkened eyes. Another, larger hand reaches out to hold the face belonging to a very sleepy man. A pair of brows furrowed much like the other had earlier.

“You ain’t been sleepin’ right again. Y’need ta sleep, Jamie.” A voice of concern, mixed with the slightest hint of exasperation made the half asleep blonde mumble some sort of retort. He didn’t much like to be told what to do, even if he knew the other was completely right. But this time, he had an alibi.

“Th’cryin happened again. Must’ve been some bloke we talked t’on th’street. Kept me up fer a good few hours.” This earned a rub on the head from the larger hand. “Wot, chu feelin’ sorry fer me? Mako, y’know this happens! It’s parta who I am. Well, wot I am, anyhoo.” A nod from Mako, and he removed his hand. 

“Get ready to go.” Jamison was about to ask where in a really annoyed tone, but was cut off as the much larger man lifted him up and sat him upright on his mattress. “We’re goin’ t’the store. Yer outta food, right?” The reminder made Jamie frown. He was right, as usual. “You demons are all th’same. Yer so… connivin’.” Mako, raising an eyebrow, turned away to look for something. “Yer notta demon, an’ yer connivin’.” He mused. 

A hand ran through the mess of yellowish hair. “Yeah, unlikes demons, banshees are clever!” The demon rolled his eyes. “Where’d y’put yer limbs, Jamie? I told you to keep them onna shelf.” He found what he was looking for as he said this; a pair of prosthetics. He brought them over to their rightful owner, handing over the arm first.

It clicked into place easily, and Jamison flexed his fingers. “Y’know… I still have th’ol peg I made all those years back. Still fits me, to a T.” He smiled, humming to himself as his newer, more professional looking leg was given to him. Mako didn’t seem as happy about it. “Told y’to throw it away. Or least scrap it and make somethin’ new.” A defiance filled shake of the smaller’s head was the only response. This elicited a sigh. “Look, just wash yer face an’ all, get dressed, so we can go.” 

“Foine. Yea, I’ll hurry it up.” He stands, kicking out his prosthetic leg a few times before shuffling to the bathroom. After a while, he comes out, heading back to his room. Mako wasn’t there. “Must’ve gone t’the kitchen…” Checking the fridge, most likely. He starts rummaging around for clothes, pulling out his usual; a sweater and a skirt. He recalls how nervous he used to be, wearing what felt comfortable to him outside. But then Mako told him, “If anyone says somethin’ t’you, I’ll drag them t’hell. Promise.” He liked that promise. So much so, that he almost never wore pants anymore. Didn’t really matter what other’s thought if Mako was with him.

“You ready yet, Jamie?” He was ready as the question reached his ears, and he once again shuffled out of the room. “I’m here, don’t get yer knickers in a knot.” He flattened out his skirt before following the now leaving Mako to the sidewalk. As they began their walk, Mako noticed the other fiddling with a hole in the sweater he was wearing. He nudged the blonde and held out his hand.

“Wot you want?”

 

“Hold it.”

“...Yea shure.” Jamison placed his hand in the other’s and murmured something.

“What, y’too good to hold my hand?” 

“Ain’t said that! Jus shut up and walk!”

“Sure, Jamie.” He smiles down at him, and they continue walking. After they walked for around 5 more minutes, the banshee finally figured out why the larger wanted to hold his hand. He glanced down at his sweater, and silently thanked the other. He didn’t want to have to sew a big hole back up, especially not in the front. A tiny hole like the one he’d already made would be simple, maybe two stitches. He already knew what thread he’d used, and---

“We’re here.” A slight tug on his arm made him stop. He was just about to walk into a door. Ah, he must’ve gotten lost in thought, as usual. He looks around. A sort of fancy looking restaurant was in front of them. The name looked french, and the facade was almost like looking at a bigger than usual cafe. It was actually more cute than fancy. But once they went inside, it was a whole nother story. It was so fancy, he almost didn’t think they’d let the two of them in. 

Mako noticed his trepidation, and nudged him forward. “Go on, I made reserves. They gotta let us in.” Jamison sighs, heading in and waiting for someone to seat them. Eventually, they’re led to a back room table. It was very quiet, and they both reveled in the peace. Plus, with how secluded it was, no one was going to comment on Jamison's outfit. It seems Mako had thought things out pretty well. He'd have to thank him later, since their waiter arrives with two waters pretty quickly. The demon looks through the menu vaguely, as if he already knows what he wants. Jamie, on the other hand, flips through the menu with a frown on his face. Nothing looks good to him. 

This was the problem with going to restaurants... He liked to cook himself, so he knew how the food would taste before it was done. Would their stuff taste the same? Would it be worse? Better? He was always unsure, but sometimes, he was surprised, and they did a pretty good job. He decided to get an iced tea, mostly to stall for time. As the waiter left, he looked over to Mako. "Wot're you gonna get?" The other put the menu down and shrugged. So... he didn't know what he was going to get? "Prob'ly a soup an' salad combo. Nothin' here looks too good, 'sides the desserts. You?" A shake of the head. "Dunno. Maybe we can just get some cake." Suddenly, he didn't feel very good. This happened sometimes. He'd think about food and suddenly he felt sick to his stomach. He puts his face in his hands and sighs. "M'sorry. It's happening again." 

"We can leave if y'want." The words made a spike of guilt stab into his heart. "No.. I... just need a moment, yea?" He smiled weakly, apologetically. The waiter returned with his tea and asks about their choices. They both decided to get two desserts each. More waiting, and more stress on Jamison. He slid down on his chair, covering his mouth with one hand and holding his stomach with the other. This sucked. Why'd this have to happen today? Right now, too? He shut his eyes, and only opened them when the familiar pressure of Mako's hand landed on his head. He'd gotten up and moved to his side, rubbing his head slowly. He stays silent for a while, then presses his forehead against Jamie's. The rush of magic, as always, was cold. A nearly inaudible whisper was heard, and the contact was broken. 

It wasn't a spell, it was just magic coming off of the demon. Anyone else would have found it unsettling, but to the blonde, it was comforting. He used to ask for it, until it became a little ritual of theirs. His stomach turned a bit, but had settled down for the most part. Just in time, too, it seemed. Their food had arrived. They'd gotten the same things, and Jamison sat up, swallowing. He grabbed a fork and dug into the left piece. A chocolate piece of cake, topped with a scoop of ice cream, which was then topped with whipped cream and caramel sauce. He shoves the bite into his mouth and scrunched up his face. It was sweet, sickeningly so. He opened his eyes to watch Mako lift his mask slightly and put a bite into his own mouth. That was also another reason he'd picked such a secluded spot. No one would ask about the medical mask he was wearing, or the sweat band across his forehead. That was good.

The two of them stayed quiet as they ate, not wanting to draw any attention from the one other couple in the seating area to themselves. Jamison made it halfway through his second dessert before he started slowing down. He was getting sick, but this time, it was from the large amount of sugar he'd just dumped into his body. Not to mention, the cake was thick, and it wasn't helping at all. He dropped his fork and groaned, lying his forehead on the table. "Can't do it. S'too sweet..." He looked up, and huffed when he saw Mako's plates were clean. Well, as clean as they could be. The larger reached across the table and picked up the plate with half a lava cookie and ice cream on it. "Sure you don't want it?" He asked, and as the blonde shook his head, he went to work finishing it. 

They had a policy with food. If one didn't finish something, the other has to. No food was ever to be wasted. So this was how things always went. Sometimes, Jamie was the one to finish off the food. Only sometimes. They never really went to buffets, it made Jamison too angry. All that food, and some went to waste. Sticking to regular cafes and restaurants was the only way he wouldn't get angry. He often had to look at the ground whenever they left, or he'd see people's plates with food still on it, but no one at the table. Mako told him it was way too gross to take that food, so he had to ignore it if he happened to see it. The waiter arrived with the bill and Mako paid. The banshee insisted on not leaving a tip, but his partner left a five anyway. "Don't you think that's too tiny for 'em? They'll be expectin' more!" Mako stood up, brushing himself off. "If they don't want it, they can give it back." Luckily, the waiter happily accepted and thanked them both.

As they walked back, it was quiet. Everyone must have gone to where they were headed by now. Home, school, work. Plenty of places for people to go. Jamison wobbled a bit, he still felt sick. "I'm so gonna throw up, it's gonna be horrible." Mako pushed him lightly, snorting. "I don't wanna hear it." The shorter laughed, punching the other in the arm. He covered his mouth and burst out laughing. Anyone around them looked over, and it stopped abruptly as the demon covered his entire face with his palm. The now muffled blonde complained into the skin, pulling back and sticking his tongue out. "Yer a child."

"I ain't! You're just..." Instead of a word, another hit to the arm came, and his hand found its place in the other's as they continued walking. They held hands up until Mako had to leave the other at his apartment door. They look at each other one last time, then Jamie turns to unlock his door. Another glance. "I guess I'll see y'tomorrow." 

"Yeah. G'night, Mako." The door closes with a clunk.


	3. Foggy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A mission.

He woke up in the same place he fell asleep. A first. Fitting, he thought to himself as he sat up on the comfortable, cold, concrete floor. What did he come in here for again? To remember something, that’s right. But he ended up falling asleep for once in his life and dreaming. The dream was fuzzy, but it had felt so vivid. Flashes of it replayed in his mind and he held out his good hand, grasping at the air. Was this a memory? Perhaps. When was this memory from? He couldn't remember every detail, but he had gone somewhere, and... and---

A loud knock at the door shook him out of his thoughts. 

“Locking yourself up again? What good does it do you?” The voice behind the knocking was harsh, cold. Like the person had much better things to be doing then knocking on a locked door. Just great. He knew this voice, too. One of his coworkers. But... Why’d they have to send this guy after him? He pulled himself to his mismatched feet and unlocked the door, opening it a crack. “Whatchu want, Lester? They send you t’fetch the garbage again?" He snorts. What a funny joke he's made. He decides to follow it up. "Despite wot people say, I ain’t trash.” He shoved his way past the now flustered looking man. “Wait! The Boss has a job for you…” His whole demeanor had changed the moment the other had met his glance. It was almost uncanny. But it didn't matter to the other man. “He wants you to go--” Lester’s sentence dropped as the person he had been speaking to was far too far away to even hear. Once he was out of sight, his posture changes yet again, and he punches the wall. How odd.

He didn’t need to hear Lester’s stupid message. He always knew what the Boss wanted from him. Well, that was a couple of things, but all of them required going outside, so that's what his plan was. His hunch today told him he was going to another abandoned base to steal back supplies and rations. That was his usual. If not that, it was a patrol, for recon. Or, a kidnapping. Whatever it was, it was always his pleasure. He loved his job.

He headed up to his actual lodgings, locking the door behind him before pulling off the slightly baggy shirt and pants and groaning when a large snap was heard from his head. Locks of fairly well treated, dull blonde hair fell out of their usual ponytail position as the elastic had finally given in. He ran a hand through it and sighed, pulling the mass back up and finding a new hairtie. He’d always get the flashy red ones. It wasn't his favourite colour, but it was basically Talon's. He pulled the ends of his hair, just to secure the hair in the tie, them went to go look in the mirror.

He was built like a girl. That’s what people told him. It didn’t bother him. It never really occurred to him to be any kind of insult. He was lithe, but not so much a stick. It helped him fit into places snugly, since he had no sharp bits. If anything, the only thing about his body that bothered him was the hole in his chest. A pane of glass had been grafted on both sides of the hole, and his heart was beating visibly inside. He’d always ask how he got the thing, but everyone told him they found him that way and added the glass for safety.

He places a hand on his face. Freckles. That was another thing he hated about himself. He wished they’d go away. They made him look cutesy. They gave people confidence when he’d snatch them. They’d laugh and ask what a child is doing trying to kidnap them. He’d always get the last laugh. Always. He supposed it was a good aspect to surprise people with. Only sometimes, however. They’d look up at him, apologizing for calling him a child. Did he ever forgive any of them?

No.

 

He pulls on a tight turtleneck and pants, straightening things out before picking a box up and heading out through the only window in his room. He didn’t feel like running into anyone today. His interaction with Lester put him off of socializing for the day. Shoving the box in his pocket, he pulled out his phone and sure enough, coordinates for an abandoned warehouse popped up on the screen. He sent back a tongue emoticon and put the device back in his other pocket. There was only one thing worrying him….

It was unusually foggy today. His head, and the streets. It looked like a horror movie. Felt like a movie, too. He was still playing back what he could of the dream - the memory - in his head, each time it became more and more real to him. He knew his old name was Jamison, he’d read it in one of his files. But no one called him that anymore. His phone buzzed and he took it out to look at it.

-Don’t get caught, Slander.  
-Rescuing you will come out of your pay.

He snorts, walking and tapping the letters on screen.

-i never get caught, boss.  
-you know that.  
-won’t even have to kill a single bloke today.  
-you’ll see :)

He turned the phone off and threw it behind him. He had arrived, and he didn’t need any distractions. Well, besides the one running rampant in his head. He’d memorized all the little nuances of the event. How it felt to wake up, the sound of the keys, the sound of the other man’s voice. There was an issue, which made itself apparent every time he thought about it. The other man, Mako was his name. He remembered looking at him a lot. But his face… was blurry, like he had his eyes open underwater. He could only recall a mask, and maybe a scar? He shook his head. He could think about that later. Right now he had a job to do.

Slander.

His name had a funny story behind it. The other workers used to love to bring it up, say it’s the funniest thing they’ve ever been through. Slander doesn’t like it. He hates this story. The story of how they brought him in, they had five people on him. “Strong willed,” they told him. Then the things they claim he said. They said it was so horrible, that they could have sued him for slandering them. That’s where his name came from. They all laugh. Slander sinks further into his chair. One of them never comes back from a mission. It wasn’t Slander’s fault, but they all blame him. They all glare at him and call him the worst thing to ever happen to them. None of them come back from their patrols.

This was Slander’s fault. No one tells that story anymore.

He crawls up the wall of the warehouse, it was something only he could do. Slip into the vents. Crawl on the ceiling, see if anyone was there. The coast was clear of people, but now he had to worry about wires. He takes a pink tube out of the box in his pocket and shakes it up before lobbing it at the floor. It detonates with a flash and a pop, spreading pink powder everywhere. In certain places, lines of blue popped out. Trip wires. They were haphazardly placed, as if the person who did it didn’t really want to do their job. Oh well. He crawls down a wall and starts tiptoeing around. He starts singing to himself, stepping to the beat of his words. His head sways to some unheard song, and he traverses the maze of wires easily. He picks up boxes on the way, piling them near a window. He starts getting really into his song and dance, hopping around and tossing boxes as his singing reaches more audible levels. 

There weren’t too many boxes, and soon enough, he had stacked around two dozen by his escape route. He took a large plastic out of his box and blew into a mouthpiece. After a lot of blowing, a large plastic sack was formed. A regular bag would have been too thin, so he had to go with this, no matter how stupid he felt blowing into it. He places the boxes in the bag and tosses it out the window, climbing up after it. It was a bit heavy, so he dragged it a while before hefting it over his shoulder. He found where his phone was and rubbed the dew off of it. The fog had settled. He was finished.

-coming home boss~  
-i’m the best, as always, right?  
-don’t answer. you’ll make my ego bigger  
-:)

He hauls the bag all the way back to HQ, and is welcomed back by security with smiles. They didn't seem honest. Of course they weren't. They hated him, he knew it. But they knew to stay in their places, lest they disappear like the rest of him. The Boss knew about this, but he didn't tell Slander to stop. He only issued a warning, to not tease other employees. Everyone knew who they were talking about. He was infamous, at the very best. He snickered just thinking about it. He dragged the bag to the loot room, and started emptying it out. There were rations, which he piled into a corner with other food supplies. Then came the weaponry, which went into a small chute in the corner. He found a knife, and pocketed it. Another one for the collection. Clothing went into a basket, and anything else went in the crates. After all this, he headed up to the Boss' room and slipped a piece of paper under the door.

The paper had nothing more than a smiley face written on it, but that was all the man needed to know that Slander had indeed returned. The guards at the door grimaced at the little note, wishing they had more to do than stand at a door all day. But those were the hands they were dealt. Slander got lucky with his cards, apparently. He walked the halls, another song coming up in his head. He bounced along to it's beat, heading back to his room. He pulls out the knife he'd pilfered and opening up a large suitcase.

Nothing but knives. Various blades of different use, different flavour. A cleaver was in the bunch as well. He found a good spot for his new find and lodged it in the foam. "Perfect. Right at home, y'are." He smiled and closed the case, sliding it back underneath his bed. He looks over at the mirror, then approaches it. His hand goes up to his chest, where the glass lies underneath his clothing. He taps it, and shudders. It felt weird to do that. He shakes his head, trying to clear it, then sits on his bed, sighing. The dream, no, the memory. Was it really true? He couldn't tell, sometimes he had vivid, lucid nightmares... But this... Especially when he was actively trying to remember something... It couldn't be a coincidence. He had to write it down somewhere. He reached over towards his night stand and grabs his notepad and pen.

'Mako'. That name. "Mako." It felt strange on his tongue. Who was he? He wanted to know more about him. Badly, too. He placed the pad against his forehead and closed his eyes, flopping back onto the mattress. Mako. "Who are you, Mako? Were we close?? How close? How old were you? How old are you now?" He said these aloud, as if doing so would give him answers. He could feel his eyes getting heavy. It was late... When did it get so late? Mako.. Mako.

Mako....

Mako.


	4. Rushing Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The second memory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there! If you like RoadRat, why not join a whole Discord server all about it! Come join me and other RR content makers at https://discord.gg/RQyPCK5 !

“Mako! Hurry it up! We’re gonna miss the train!” The two of them were running towards a train station, the larger trailing behind by quite a bit. Jamison stops, going back and grabbing his hand, dragging the other along. Today was a special day! The banshee had convinced Mako to take him to the neighboring town for a day or three of them time. Well, when he looked at it a certain way, it wasn't like they didn't already have 'them time'. He supposed he just wanted to go somewhere new, somewhere different. He'd looked up plenty of varying locations; A beach, a casino city... But he ultimately decided on the countryside. Luckily, the next town over was just the thing. He couldn't wait to pet all the animals, chase some around, sit in the grass.... Oh, it was going to be perfect! He'd started packing straight away. He wondered where they'd sleep. Maybe outside? That'd be okay, the nights were getting warmer...

“Look, Jamie… we’re not… gonna make it.” He was wheezing, pulling away from the blonde’s grip. He pulls out an inhaler and shoves it under his medical mask, taking two deep breaths and holding them both. He couldn't run for too long, and not fast. He'd trailed behind for the duration of their run towards the station, and now he needed a rest. He looked over to Jamison, who was jogging in place. “That's ok! We still have time, we'll make it! We'll make it and---” The sound of an whistle rang out. Their train was gone. The banshee turns in the direction of the noise and stares, practically deflating. It went quiet, and the blonde looks down at the map in his hand.

“I’m sorry, Jamie… Should’ve woken you up sooner…” He approaches the other, who was once again staring at the far off station. He perks up as his hand was taken into a much larger one. “Jamie… I’m real sorry.” The blonde smiles, squeezing Mako’s thumb. “It’s ok, big guy. Ain’t yer fault.” The demon knew that it was indeed, his fault, and even though his face was mostly hidden, the shorter could tell he was frowning. He hugs what he can of the other, and they stay like that for a while, until they hear people whispering and snickering around them. They separate, both of their ears flushing red. They head back to a nearby park, sticking close together. The larger debates bringing up the issue again, but he looks down at the blonde and his heart sinks. He looks so upset, anything he wanted to say vanished deep behind his guilt. That was okay, since he didn't talk much anyway. Jamison wouldn't ask about it. Little did he know that the other was going through some of the same thing. Deliberating too much on his words, his thoughts swirling around. He reaches over to grab the other's hand, or thumb or finger, anything. His hand draws back and slips into the pocket of his hoodie. Their trek was silent.

Once they arrive, they sit down together, and Jamison leans over onto the larger. He seemed upset still, and that worried Mako. He really felt bad. It really was his fault. He cups the side of the smaller male's head and sighs. Whoever said hindsight is 20/20 was way too insightful. How many times had they'd messed up to finally come to such a truthful conclusion? He thinks about how he might like to meet this person, see if he thinks saying the phrase was a mistake in itself. That'd be ironic. He looks down at his partner and smiles a little behind his mask. He wishes he could turn back time, just today. 

Earlier that day, Jamie’d fallen asleep. He wanted to take a nap before they head out to the train. They were going on a tiny vacation. That is, until Mako had yet again fallen in love with how the tall blonde looked asleep. He was so cute, so peaceful. He’d walked in and out of the living room many times, checking on him each time. The way his chest rose and fell, how he sometimes shifted to curl up. How if he’d put a pillow near him, he’d grab onto it and cling to it as if letting it go would kill him. He’d nuzzle the thing in his sleep, and murmur softly, happily. By the time he noticed anything resembling a clock, it was too late. “Oops.” He’d said, under his breath as they rushed out the house. He didn't even have time to apologize, Jamison was far ahead of him, a grin on his face despite the possibility of being too late. Why'd he have to be so... sentimental? He ran after him, though his pace was more of a brisk jog. This was all his fault, if only he'd---

“It’s okay, Mako.” Jamison’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts. He looks over, brows furrowed in worry. The shorter of the two reached up and placed his prosthetic on his shoulder. “I mean it. There’s always tomorrow. Ain’t no reason to be upset.” Mako almost shook his head, but arguing the point would only make the other actually mad. He hated being argued with, no matter what it was about. He was really stubborn, and his stance was almost touchable. He wasn't going to budge on this one. No matter how much Mako would nudge him one way, he'd always slide back into what he wanted to believe.

“Y’sure?” A nod. “M’shure.” With that, it was pretty much decided. The discussion was over, and everything was okay. At least, that's what the two wanted to think. They both knew that it wasn't. But they had to move past this, together. Mako's fingers rubbed around in a mess of blonde hair, and he smiles behind his mask. Jamison's hair was warm at the tips, for some strange reason. It was very bouncy, and soft. It reminded him of a Pachimari, and he loved those. He had so many, and the blonde didn't help his collection stay stable, buying him more and more, small and big. He loved them, and he loved the person who kept dumping them on him.

By the time they headed home, it was late in the evening. The sky was orange and red, and Jamison stared up at it. He wondered many things, all at once. His zoning out wasn’t unnoticed, and Mako gently placed his hand on his back, urging him to keep walking. He obliges, looking up at the other several times. “Hey…” He starts. A grunt of acknowledgement. 

“D’ya… D’ya think we’ll ever do anything big? Like we used to? D’ya think we’re burnt out, just after two years? Where’ll we go? Where’ll we end up?” Ah, one of those moods. This happened sometimes. Jamie would get real… existential, so much so, it was a concern. Sometimes it'd come with tears, a breakdown. Uncertainties about life. Worries about everything under the sun. Mako couldn't bear to see him like this... It broke his heart. He'd always scoop him into him arms and hold him tightly. Not too tightly, he didn't want to squish him. He'd hold him like this until the other let him know he was alright. But he couldn't do this right now. They were outside, and he knew that they both would feel uncomfortable with the contact. So he held his shoulder, making him stop in his tracks.

He walked in front of the blonde and placed a hand on his head. This earned him a happy sound. That was good. That was a start. Everything started out somewhere, and this was a good place to begin. He takes a bit of his hair in between his finger and thumb, rubbing the digits together and reveling in the texture. So soft, it was so cute. He made a sound in the back of his throat and it ended in a sigh. “No good thinkin’ bout those things right now. S’gonna happen when it happens. No sense’n rushin’ things, Jamison.” A pause. A nod. It seemed that the banshee was happy with the answer. He reaches up and pats the hand on his head, a big smile on his face. The hands leave their places, and meet in the middle of the two. The walk home was quiet, as usual, but the mood was much better than it had been. It wasn't happy-go-lucky, but it was something. Content? Perhaps. That was a good word for it, indeed. 

When they arrived at the door, Jamison didn't open it. Instead, he turned around and looked up at the demon. "I wantcha t'stay tonight." He doesn't let go of his hand, and Mako immediately understood. "Won't leave." He muttered. That was all the answer the blonde needed, and he turned back to open the door. The larger followed him in, closing the door behind him and reminding the other to lock it. He slowly wraps his arms around the smaller male and lifts him up. He moves them to the bedroom, carefully moving onto the bed, Jamison currently under him, but clinging to him. He sits them upright, holding him close. The banshee hides his face in the crook of his neck and mutters softly. It's almost incomprehensible, but Mako understands. His hands shift a bit, settling on the other's back. His weight shifts, and the bed creaks painfully. Jamie's hand tightens it's grip on the larger's shirt. He mumbles something akin to 'don't leave', and receives a nod. "Pr'mise."

They stay like that until about the tenth yawn from the blonde reaches Mako's ears. He pulls on his prosthetic arm, pushing down the release and taking it off. It was so strange to do, but it was a near necessity. The last time he left the thing on, he woke up to crying. It had latched onto the mess of blonde hair, and they had to cut him out of it. So off it had to go, along with the leg. After the limbs were off, he lies his partner down, looming over him. He was so tiny compared to him. It used to throw him off, but he got used to how to handle him. He became more aware of the space around him, and since Jamison was almost always in that space, he became hyper aware of him. He couldn't sneak up on him, and he could tell where he was coming from, even with his eyes closed. It was a certain sense... He could never place it, but it was there. He laid his hand on the other's chest. It was so warm, eerily so. Especially over where his heart was. Sometimes he wondered if it was a heart that lied underneath, or just a pulsating ball of fire. Either way, the sound of it was music to his ears. He was alive, real and touchable. So real it hurt, sometimes. But he'd never tell him that. He'd ask too many questions, and Mako was still unsure of the answers himself. He leans down and presses his forehead against the blonde's, like usual. Their little ritual. The feeling he received from it was warm, just like the rest of his banshee.

He muses to himself. His banshee. Jamison was his. He was Jamison's. It was mutual, and the feeling was beautiful. Nothing he could ever think of would match the feeling he felt with the blonde. He also knew that the other felt just the same. He looked down, meeting a bright firey red gaze. Pulling away, he slowly got off the bed. "Y'aren't leaving, right?" He sounded concerned. A hand fell onto his torso, rubbing gently. A negative sound. He wasn't going anywhere. "Good... I wanna see you in th'morning..." He yawned once more and curled up around a pillow. His eyes lidded, and his breathing slowed. "Love you..." It was almost a whisper, but it was heard.

"Love y'too, Jamie."


	5. Lester

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A sick day.

“What do you mean I have to take care of him?” The question came with two hands, smacking themselves on a desk. “Boss, please, get someone else to do it! He’s such a baby when it comes to me, it ain’t fair!” Silence. The chair of the desk turned away from Slander, and the person sitting in it hummed happily. “...Slander. That’s precisely why it has to be you. He’s so violent towards everyone else, why, just the other day, he almost took out one of the security guards. I suppose when we ask him about you, he acts the same way, but when he sees you… It’s like your presence changes him. It’s a very strange thing, but an asset at the moment. Honestly, we think you’re the only person he’d take anything from. So please, do this for him. Do this for me.” The blonde took his hands off the desk and shoved them in his pockets. Of course he’d use this ploy. But there was no way out of something like this… He might lose mission time, or even worse, get demoted. He didn't really have a choice in this deal, so he lets out a sigh and scratches his head.

“Shure, boss. I’ll get right on it. I'll fetch him some meds and junk, so don't worry a bit.” With that, he left the room. He needed to do so much... Make soup, get all the medicine for him. He clicks his tongue. Lester better be happy that his boss cares so much about him, he thinks. If he didn’t, I wouldn’t be going anywhere near your sick face. He shook away his thoughts and went to the staff kitchen, whipping up something simple, something quick: Chicken soup. If he complained, he’d dump it all over him, for sure. Even if he was reprimanded, he'd feel that it was worth it. Then again, if he could get away with murdering other low ranking Talon members, then a little burn from hot soup shouldn't get him a slap on the wrist. After the soup was done, he covered the pot with a see through top and moved it off the burner. He then headed to the medical bay, making sure to avoid any doctors roaming about. He didn't need any of them stopping him to ask him pointless questions. Plus, he didn't want to be caught remembering things on purpose, so carefully and quickly he went. He fetched an armful of meds and returned to the kitchen. Pain meds went in the soup, and he carried the rest, including the pot of soup, to the lodges.

Room 1039. A room he had to walk past almost everyday, seeing as his room number was 1049. He sighs, how’d he get roped into this mess again? Ah right, the whole, ‘only nice to him’ thing. He goes to knock on the door, then stops. Since his hands were full, he backed up a bit, and kicked the door with his good foot. “What? Who’s there? I told you all to leave me alone! Go away! I ain’t takin’ anything you give me!!” His voice was hoarse, but he still managed to yell. Such an annoyance. Slander wishes the other had've lost his voice. The door was obviously locked, and there was only one safe way to open a locked door. Lockpicking time. He set the pot and pills down, then pulled a pin from his hair. “It’s me, boss told me t'take care of you.” A second of silence. “Especially you! I don’t want you comin’ anywhere near me! Go away!” This earned him a laugh, as he tries to pick the lock. “Yeah, I didn’t wanna come here either, Lester, so shut your mouth, yea?” A click, and the door moves open. The tone shifts.

“Oh! Slander… You didn’t have to come visit me.” Lester was currently twirling a lock of his greyish-blue hair, huddled up under green covers. His hair was in a straight bob, a bit longer than his ears. It was a bit frizzy at the ends, and almost moved independently, like water. It was sort of unsettling, but the taller man was used to it by now. As he stopped twirling the lock of odd coloured hair, it untwisted and settled back into place. The blonde rolls his eyes, gathering the things he’d brought. He pushes past the door and sighs. It was a mess. Things were broken all around, and he was glad he was wearing shoes. “You need to clean up in here.” A whimper. “Y-you know how it is. Once I clean it up, I just break other stuff. So there’s no point. Oh, is that food?” The boy sits up and looks over at the pot. "Just soup? That's really nice of you.." The blonde was this close to dumping the hot liquid on the other, but refrained. "And..." His eyes move to the pill bottles next to the pot. “...I’m gonna have to take all of that..? Is it that bad?” Slander didn't answer, and instead started opening bottles and taking out pills. Two of one, half of another. One of this and one of that. He hands them to Lester, along with a bottle of iced tea he’d snatched from the fridge. “...Alright. I trust you, Slander... But I don't really like taking medicine, just so you know!” He pops the pills into his mouth and quickly downs them with the tea. Next, he gladly takes a bowl of soup from the other.

“You made this, right?” A nod. “Even if it’s just simple, your food’s much better than the chefs’... Where’d you learn how to--- Oh. Uh, sorry. You don’t remember…” He shoves a spoonful in his mouth and smiles. Slander sits down on the one clean spot in the room and fixes himself a bowl as well. He always hated Lester's tendency to ask him about his past in some roundabout way. 'How'd you learn this,' or 'Did you ever,'. It wasn't something he could talk about... Well, now that he was remembering things... But Lester wasn't really the person he'd want to confide in about such personal things. Well, maybe just a little, since the other would always rant and rave at him about his little insecurities. That was okay with the blonde, he was a good listener when it came to those types of things. He tastes the soup. A bit too salty, of course. As usual when working with cubes. He frowns to himself and the looks up at the other on the bed.

“How long y’been sick?”

“Maybe a couple of days now. When I missed my patrols, they started sending people. You probably know what happened." Oh, did he ever. Boss didn't even need to explain what had happened. He'd walked by the nurse's office while he was grabbing the medicine for Lester and saw the aftermath of someone else being sent to his room. They were pretty beat up, scars everywhere, almost like an animal attack. It was hard to look at, and when he attempted to speak, it was more a series of croaks and gasps. Slander could make out an angry tone, but the sentiment was basically drowned out in pain. Two other workers were there, and when they noticed Slander, they went silent. This made the blonde laugh. "Y'best be glad it wasn't me who attacked you. That's wotcha thinkin', ain't it?" Their lowered gazes told him all he needed to know. "Well, yer right in thinkin' that. Cause if I'd have gotten ya, you'd be dead." They shudder visibly at the notion, and turn away from him, one muttering an apology. He moves away, his already bad mood getting worse. They'd never understand what it was like. Never. 

No one would.

He smiles at Lester, raising a brow. "I saw the guy, really did a number on 'im, yea? I'm impressed." Not really, he could do much worse, but hey, it was something. Lester wasn't proud, however, and hid his face in his hands. "I can’t help it! It’s like I become a different person when I’m not around you. Did they ever figure that out?”

“They say it’s ‘cause of magic or somethin’. Like, me bein’ a banshee, and havin’ magic in me messes with your demeanor or somethin’ weird like that.” Yep. That was the only thing the scientists and doctors could come up with. It was kinda lame sounding, like some deus ex machina. Well, he did suppose everyone freaked out when they first met and the other's personality did a 180. It was uncanny, and they'd thought Slander was dead meat for sure. Or... Lester, considering who Slander was. But no fight ensued, and everyone stared as the man they'd come to fear was suddenly docile, timid. Slander, who didn't know about the angry, violent side of Lester, was confused until the Boss showed him the videos. It was amazing, to be honest. He'd never have guessed, and that made him... Angry. He felt like he was being lied to. But then they met on the other side of a door, and he was the angry mess he'd seen in the videos. This made him even angrier! What was it about being seen by him that changed him? It was unfair! Everything always happened to him, and it wasn't fair at all.

“Huh. I guess that could be it. But then… Which one is the real me?” This question again. He could never really answer it himself, and when he asked his boss, the answer was always ‘Figure it out yourself’. If the doctors couldn't figure it out, then how in the world were they supposed to? Maybe there wasn't a 'real' Lester, and it was just truly the byproduct of some stupid residual magic. The banshee didn't like the sound of either possibility, but the magic thing was slightly more favorable. It gave him a bit of leverage against him, a permanent leg up on the other. But if by some chance, it didn't actually come out to magic, Lester was more unpredictable than he thought. That made him mad. He was really mad when it came to Lester.

A long period of silence reigned, and the two bowls were soon empty. “Well. I’m heading out.” Lester peered up at the now standing blonde and smiled sadly. “Ah, yeah, I guess you’re busy. I’ll… see you later?” He paused at the door. Oh boy. This. It was really hard for him, the whole refraining from dumping hot soup all over the blue haired boy. But, he put a hand on the door and heaved a sigh. “...Slander? Will I--”

“Yeah, Lester. I’ll see you later.” He pushed the door open, then turned to face the sick male. What a baby. He liked his violent side much better. Well, when it wasn't aimed towards him. He walked out the door and ignored the angry yelling that came as the line of sight was broken. Always this. It was really annoying. He headed back to the kitchen, grabbing a bag of chips and popping them open. He reveled in the loud bang it produced, then froze.

What... was this feeling? Where was this feeling coming from? He couldn't move, and a rush of nostalgia washed over him. But it wasn't good nostalgia... It was awful, and his legs gave out, sending his crashing to the floor. His grip on the bag vanishes and it lands with a crinkle. What was happening to him? He felt like he couldn't breathe, and his vision was blurring. The kitchen around him started to warp, pulsating with his own heartbeat. He tried to pull himself up, but his legs wouldn't hold him up. He opened his mouth, trying to call for anyone to help him, but nothing came out. His whole body trembled, and he felt sick. He slid back onto the floor and stared at it as his vision went completely black.


	6. Thunder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The third memory

“Yer okay, trust me.” A soft murmur was the only answer to the assurance. Large fingers parted blonde hair, and the pouring rain outside filled the otherwise silent doorway. Smaller hands fidgeted with a string on the larger's shirt. It was getting soaked, and not from the rain. The banshee was crying. The demon, on the other hand, looked a bit disheveled. There was indeed, a good reason for this. "M'sorry." Mako shakes his head. "Stop 'pologizing. Should've been here sooner." He insists. Then, the reason that brought the other to Jamison's house made itself clear:

Thunder. 

The sky flashed, and a loud boom was heard. The smaller male jumped, covering his ears. What was wrong with him? He used to love explosions, and... he still did! What was so different about the thunder? Well, it wasn't the sound that scared him. He was deathly afraid of being struck by lightening. The house could be hit, it could go through the wires. Those were his thoughts, and every time the thunder clapped, he scrambled. Get low on the ground, it'd be safer there. Had it hit the house? The fear wasn't the only problem, however. He loved explosions. A bit too much to be normal. It was problematic at most, but when it rained and the sounds kept coming over and over again... Paired with the paralyzing fear... It was a problem he needed help with. So... he called Mako. Well, he dialed the number, dropped the phone, and wailed into the space around him for help. It almost gave the demon a heart attack, but then he heard the thunder, and knew. It calmed him a tad, but he was still concerned. He rushed over as quickly as he could, and now he was standing in the other's doorway. He slowly picked Jamison up and moved into the house, closing the door.

"Yer okay, Jamie..." He tries again. This time, the person who he was speaking to nuzzled into his shoulder. "I'm gonna die, Mako... I'm gonna die and it's gonna be from lightening..." His voice is a croaky mess. "A-and... and I'm..." At this, he's set down on a spare mattress. He hadn't even noticed that they were moving until then. He looks at Mako, and bristles as the other pulls off the medical mask he usually wore. He also took off his sweatband. The sight always made Jamison smile. He rubbed his eyes, and happily stared back at the three looking at him.

 

 

He'd asked about it once, back when they'd first met. He first saw it while the other was adjusting his band. It was a shock, and it intrigued him immensely. Then, came the asking. It was a blunt question, phrased to be forward, prying. "Why you got three eyes, huh?" He'd ask, again and again. No answer came, until one day, Mako turned to him and frowned. "Why's yer hair always hot at th'tips?" This caught the banshee off guard. "Well, I looked it up, an it's supposedly a banshee thing? Wot's that gotta do wit my question?" Defensive. He hadn't opened up to him yet. To this, the demon points to the bottom of his own forehead, where the extra eye is. "This. S'a demon thing. Some got more, some got jus' two." He'd read his mind - not really, he could only suggest ideas, not pull them from someone's thoughts, so this was just a lucky guess - and answered the second question Jamison had. This earned him a snort, and another question. "Don't it itch when y'cover it up loike that?" A nod. "Use t'it." Then, the other question came, days later:

"Are yer tusks real? S'at a demon thing too?" He supposed it was, but it went a bit deeper than that. "S'th'type of demon I am. A boar. S'a word fer it, but I ain't tellin' you." And so the conversation was dropped. But Jamison never stopped wondering about the tusks. They looked uncomfortable, and he wondered it they shed. He didn't ask, he wasn't sure if he'd get an answer. But nature rolled around, and a tusk was missing. This worried Jamison. "What happened to it? Will it grow back? Are y'broken?" A hand covered the blonde's mouth. They'd gotten used to physical contact. "It fell out, t'make room fer a new one. S'all." The excited banshee was calmed by this answer, and he hoped to himself that it'd grow back soon. It did, eventually.

Of course, there was never an end to Jamison's curiosity. The scars on Mako's face were his next target. The demon and him were a bit closer now, so he had leaned up into his face. "Tell me! I gotta know!" He gives in after the third time, and points to the one by his mouth. "Cerberus." The one on his eye. "Low ranking rookie." The one on his opposite cheek. "A brawl." Jamison was obviously not satisfied with these answers... Until his imagination kicked in. He thought about how cool it must have been to get scratched by the actual Cerberus and live. But... It was a medium sized scratch... Was Cerberus actually small? These questions and more made him too occupied to ask for details. This was a plus for the demon.

 

 

He ran his fingers across the scars, freezing up when a clap rung out. Mako slowly moved his palms to the blonde's sides, thumbing the t-shirt he was wearing up. He had freckles everywhere... It was so cute to the larger. He trailed his finger down a bunch of them and moved it to the semi freckled chest of the banshee. It was warm. He could feel it rise and fall, shakily, from the tears, but with his touch, it seemed to be calming down. He slid his finger down his middle, receiving a shudder and a soft sound from the other. Another thunder clap. He doesn't notice. He's too busy relishing in the feeling of Mako nuzzling into his neck. He's holding his sides, thumbs pressing in gently. The pressure makes the blonde squirm, pulling himself closer to the other. His mind was no longer focused on whether or not the lightening outside could hit his house and fry him. Instead, he was thinking about how warm the other was. How gentle he was being. It was always like this. He'd never get any rougher than a soft press or squeeze, and honestly it would drive Jamie nuts. He would sometimes wonder if it felt more intense this way, or was rough the only way to have really intense sensations. With the next few touches, his answer always came. Turns out that when you pile on millions and millions of tiny feathery touches, it snowballs into something so intense, he'd often get oversensitive. He tilts his head back, giving Mako more room to work with.

His hands roam the smaller male's body, feeling the tiny shakes that his nerves sent out. Jamison's hands make their way to the other's silvery hair. He messes with the ponytail, arching his back as he's poked and prodded. He's careful with his prosthetic, he doesn't want to catch the other's hair in the hinges.That'd ruin everything. The larger set of hands continue their work, one moving down past the smaller's belly button. Two fingers slipped under two waistbands, and his thumb brushes against the banshee's member. His response to this was to shudder, gasping and dropping his hands down to his neck. He shifts, rocking his hips upwards. He doesn't have much leeway, or leverage. The demon nuzzles his ear, his fingers rubbing around the shaft in his hand. He whispers into the ear, peppering kisses down his jawline. He stares at the flustered expression the banshee was giving him and sighed. "Pretty..." He muses, leaning back down to kiss a specific spot on his neck. The praise made Jamie buckle his hips, clinging onto Mako and panting. This went on for a long time. There were pauses ever so often, and the effects were clear. The banshee was getting overstimulated, and his mind was nowhere near on the sounds outside. The sounds he was making were much more embarrassing. He could feel the other's breath on him, and his stomach rise and fall on him. The hand that lazily but effectively rubbed against him. It was all so - maybe too much so - good. The demon whispered little half sentences of praise into his neck and it was driving him crazy. The praise turned into Latin, and his body shook with pleasure. He didn't understand all of it, but what he could understand made his heart flutter. 

Soon after, the muttered praises got further and further apart, and the pauses stopped. Jamison could feel the pressure building up, finally soaring towards his peak. He was very vocal about this, and he tugged on Mako's hoodie. He stammers, his breathing getting more and more shallow, more broken. He bucks his hips one more time, croaking out the other's name before releasing into the palm of the other's hand. He moves his hands to cover his face, but the other nudges them with his face. The hands move, and he's given an eskimo kiss. The larger pulls his hand out of the other's pants and moves to grab a towel next to the mattress. He wipes his hand off and sets the towel down, looking over at Jamie. He was curled up, trying to catch his breath in his afterglow. His t-shirt was still pressed up, but wrinkled everywhere. His shorts were mostly in place, but just a little lopsided. He could see his chest rising and falling. He was so pretty... So beautiful. So wonderful. He'd told him this time and time again, and the reaction was always, well... Lovely. He shifts, lying on his back next to the blonde, who looks over at him, red up to his ears. Silence fell as they stared at each other, then something occurred to Jamison.

The rain had stopped. 

He stood up, heading to a window and peeking through the blinds. It was wet, alright. Maybe flash flood levels of water, pooled up on the pavement. He looked at the street. Cars slowed through large patches of water, it wasn't too deep. But it was deep enough to reach around his ankles he supposed. He looked back to Mako, who was still lying down. "D'ya think you can make it home? You walked right?" He headed back over. For a while, no answer came. He was probably thinking about it. The banshee decided to let him think and sat down crosslegged next to him. It was quiet for another long period of time, then the shifting of fabric caught the smaller's attention. The demon was moving. He sits up, then stands up. "I think I'll stay a bit." The blonde smiles, standing up as well. "I can cook somethin' fer ya!" A shake of the head. "Ate before I got here." The blonde deflates a little. "Awight, that's okay! You want some tea, then?" He's halfway to the kitchen, and the larger gives him a nod this time. A smile, he turns towards the kitchen and heads to the fridge, grabbing a pitcher out of it. he gets two cups and pours the tea into both. After returning the container, he shuffles back to Mako and hands him his cup. "Uh, thanks for comin' over and helpin' me out..." His hair is fluffed by the other, who hums happily at the thanks. "Ain't a big deal. Y'deserve t'be happy." 

"Yer too kind, Mako..." He takes a drink, then scoots closer, lying his head on the demon's shoulder. "Glad it stopped rainin'... Well, thunderin' and lightenin' and junk. I wish it'd just rain and not have th'other stuff, y'know?" His partner nods, drinking his tea quietly. Jamison looks down at his own cup, tilting it slightly and watching the liquid inside move accordingly. He looks back at the other and wonders if he'll leave when he falls asleep. That was usually how it went. He moved in front of the larger, and stares at him intensely. Ah, this. He wanted something. Mako already knew what it was, and he leaned down, kissing his forehead and rubbing his hair again. He was happy. They were both happy.


	7. Natalie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A fight

If it wasn't Lester he hated the most, it was most definitely the girl standing on the cafeteria tables and yelling some ridiculous manifest destiny. "Down with Overwatch! Our duty is to purge the world and rebuild in iron! Steel yourselves against the complacent populace! Do not let the screams and backlash scare you! We are Talon! We grab at the chances life presents! We will not falter! We will not back down! Talon! Talon!" The chant rode a wave through the cafe, annoying Slander to no end. Finally, after the chant kept going for 10 minutes, he stood up. He wobbled a bit, he was still really worn out from the black out the other day, and what came with it. His movement caught the room's attention, and the chant died out. He turned his gaze to the female, high on her metaphorical horse. She places her fists on her hips and smirked. "It's about time you had something to say, polehead." She was insulting his height, even though she was standing on a table to make herself taller? Childish. He narrowed his eyes at the female.

"How annoyin'." He started, but before he could finished, a finger was pointed at him. "Look! One of our best people! But alas, all the torment and experiments made him listless! He won't even come out of his room, or the broom closet, half the time! This is why we must create a world where Talon won't have to do that! That's the Talon of the future! Talon Ta--" Her chant was stopped short by the weight of a fully grown man slamming into her and knocking her off the table. He didn't have time to think, the rage was so pure. It made him clench his jaw and before he could take another breath, he was on her. It didn't surprise him, he was far too occupied with wrapping his fingers around her throat and squeezing. "You 'avva real bad habit of talkin' too much, sheila, an it's gettin' t'be real tirin'." The girl struggled, the smirk never leaving her face. "You gonna kill me, polehead? Huh? HUH?" Another squeeze. "Shut yer mouth b'fore I tear yer throat out, yea? Wouldn't wanna make no mess on yer pretty clothes, hmm? Then again, I'll jus snap yer neck an; shutchu up fer good, how's that one sound, you cheeky bird?" The smile wouldn't leave, but in her eyes, there was fear. Good. That was all he needed. He knew that smile was near permanent. She'd been through some accident, and her muscles locked up that way. She could only make other faces that had her mouth in a different position than default. It was unfortunate, but it didn't make him feel any less malice towards her. She whimpers, her hands around his wrists, pulling harshly. Now what was this all about-- Ah, he was still choking her...

He releases his grip and moves off of the other, brushing himself off and staring down at the girl. "Pathetic. You can't even keep face in th'face a death? What a weak person y'are." Deciding this was enough, he started to walk away. Then, two rows of teeth sank into his left calf, and he hissed in pain. Ticked off, he grabbed the biter by the scruff of her shirt and hurled her across a couple tables. The screaming he heard next assured him that hot liquids had been spilled on her. He walked over, picking her up and turning to the crowd. "Y'see this? This's wot happens when y'get cocky. When y'talk too much. Y'understand?" A few nods turned into a dozen, and more people silently agreed to his basic decree. He dropped his burden and sighed. "Yer cleaning this up." He was met with a smile, and crying, hurt eyes. "You'll p-p-pay for this! I won't let you get away with this!" He chuckles, pulling out a knife. The room froze, everyone tensed up and fell silent. "You think I'm done with you? You BIT me, and that doesn't go by lightly." He spun the knife and stabbed down--

Cutting off the right side of her hair. She started sobbing, and he stood back up. "Next time, it ain't gonna be yer hair, hear me?" A nod, a whimper. He leaves the cafe. Is he reprimanded? Talked to sternly? Summoned at all? Nope. Nothing happened to him, neither was he expecting anything to happen. Until, two days later, a knock came at his door. He got up, his thoughts scattering, and cracked open the door.

It was her. She had a little clip where he'd chopped off her hair. How pitiful. "Whachu want, sheila?" 

"Lemme in!" Oh no, now that was a thing that was not happening, never ever. He started to shut the door, but she stuck her foot in, smiling as always. "Come on! You have no one else to talk to anyway! What's the big deal? Hiding something? He suddenly wishes he had killed her before. He sighs, slamming the door on her foot and getting a groan and a whispered curse out of it. He laughed. "That's what you get, now shove off before I crush somethin' else, yea?" After a while of tending to her now bruised foot, she glared up at him, the scowl turning into a wide grin. It almost looked the way a dog's mouth would as it bears it's teeth. Thinking of it this way made him laugh, leaning against the door frame. "Well, y'leavin', or do I gotta make y'leave, sheila?" She takes a step back. "A-at least... Call me by name! I'm not Sheila! You know my name!" He shook his head. "Last time I recall, y'call me nothin' but polehead. So unless yer gonna call me by my name, you can forget me returnin' th'favour." Her expression changes from bared teeth to a grin. "You should have been more clear that you didn't want me to do it." 

What.

"What did you say?" He was trembling. She gets worried. More for her life than the other's, but it was polite to ask... "I j-just said... I just, you aren't dying because of that, are you? I'm not gonna die because of it, am I?" He answers with a glare full of malice down at the brunette. His red-orange, bright eyes stared into her very being. She started to shake visibly. "I-It's just a name! I won't say it anymore, Slander, just don't kill me!" He hated her, the scar on her face, the constant reminder of her issue... The prying, the smiling, the familiar air around her, the phrasing she'd use. It was just so... "Annoying. You're annoying. Get out." Though she wasn't even in, she was still out in the hallway. Her posture fell, and if she hadn't been smiling, it was obvious a frown would take it's place. He reached out for her, but she backed away. a snicker. "Y'want me to call y'by yer name so bad, huh?" It was Natalie. Natalie. Natalie.

"Never." With this, her heart sank. He knew what she was after, and he'd never give it to her. He laughed as he could almost see the shattering of her heart. "This is what you get for everything you've ever done to me." They both knew that the other day wasn't her first offense.. She'd tease him time and time again, earning some sort of violent retaliation each time. She loved it. Her knees hit the ground with a thud. "This wasn't how it was supposed to go! You were supposed to say my name and then we'd.. we'd!!" She attempted to stand and lunge at the male, but as she pressed forward, the sudden jerk of being punched in the gut sent her keeling over. Back on her knees, in a pool of her own tears, she sobbed and whimpered. How annoying. He turned around and shut the door in her face. The crying didn't stop, and she started pawing at the door. "Slander!!! Please!!! You can't do this to me, I'm meant for you!" She insisted. Meant for, that ticked him off so much. He could feel his blood starting to boil. He hated her so much. He wishes...

He wishes... He had a chance to end her life. Ah, he turns to the door, knife now in hand. The phrase she'd thrown at him popped back up. "Been more clear. Been more clear." It taunted him. Someone had said this to him before. His grip tightened. He'd remember soon enough. He presses his free hand to the door, smiling. He was ready. He was doing this. He doesn't hesitate and opens the door and---

She was gone. Physically. No where to be seen. He lowered the blade in his grip and clicks his tongue against the back of his top teeth. She wouldn't be so lucky next time. After all, the third time was the charm. He heads back inside his house and closes the door behind him, setting the knife back in its place on the dresser. Shuffling himself to the bed, he hops on in and stares at the ceiling. It's been a handful of days since his last memory, and by now, he'd gotten a sense of the other person in them. Once he'd pieced everything together, well...

He sort of... fell in love. At first, it was with the concept of the other, the name, Mako. Then it started becoming solid, concrete. A desire to feel the things he'd felt before. Mako was making the memories seem realer, more... vivid. He covered his face, peeking through his fingers. They seemed so close, how did they grow apart? Or... did something bad happen... No. He wouldn't let himself think that way. He would learn more from his memories and go looking for Mako. That was a plan, a nice plan. Should he tell his boss? No, no need to.. He'd just take... maybe a week off, yeah. This was when he realized he was thinking aloud. A laugh, then he curled up onto his side. "More clear." Where did he hear this before? It was somewhere... maybe a new memory would pop up as he slept tonight. That would be nice. He got to spend time with the other, well, relive the times they'd spent together, anyway. But honestly that was okay with him. There was no way that Natalie was meant for him when he had Mako. Had, in the past tense, however long ago these memories were. He wants to sleep, for the first time in a long time. He wants to feel tired, so this past self of his could show him more memories of him and the demon, was it? A demon and a banshee, this made him chuckle. What an odd duo they must have been. 

He lied there, trying to place the familiar words. It was turning out to be a lost cause, until he thought of the phrase in full again. Huh. Who said this to him, and when? Why? What---

He felt a stabbing pain in his head, and he gripped the sides. The motion of him keeling over sent him off the bed, and he knocked a few things over on his way down. He didn't like this, what was happening? What was this awful feeling? He felt sick, sick to the very core of his being. His entire world shook, and he started losing consciousness. But the pain, the pain brought him back for flashes at a time. He felt cold. He felt cold as ice. He didn't know what was going on, where was he? Was this a memory? No, he was still in his room at Talon, but goosebumps lined his arm and shoulders, even though he couldn't currently see them. He was scared, but also filled with the same hatred that he directed at Natalie. But, this, this was stronger, and more impulsive.

He didn't like it.


End file.
